


Traces of Fire and Rain

by Gemichin



Category: IDOLiSH7 (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hoshi Meguri (IDOLiSH7), Erin and Orion are just two idiots in love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 13:11:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17561045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemichin/pseuds/Gemichin
Summary: A deeper dive into the blurred lines between a King and the assassin he calls his attendant





	Traces of Fire and Rain

**Author's Note:**

> A continuation of [The Way His Hair Shone in the Flames](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17547566)

Sunlight filtering through lace patterned curtains spilled shadows daintily across a plush carpeted floor. Dust that flickered in the air seemed to sparkle with the right catches of the rays, glittering and fading with the warmth that came from the beams. A body tangled between blankets and bedsheets shifted, woken by the dawn chasing the last remainders of the night into the corners of the room as eyes lit with fire blinked away the blur of sleep. Light seeped in too quickly, red hued eyes wincing as daybreak fought against the grogginess that struggled to remain. The body shifted again, detaching itself from the cocoon of fabrics that wrapped tightly around it, pulling sleep leaden limbs to a sitting position. A hand rose to run fingers through mussed strands stuck together, a head of burning red hair nothing more than a tangled mess from the night before that gave little to the digits that formed a makeshift comb. Head fogged and drowsy, the assassin took a moment to gather himself together before stretching his arms high above his head. Hearing a satisfying crack of joints loosening alongside his back and shoulders, Erin heaved a sigh as he let his muscles lax. The assassin was no stranger to the joys of slumber, regardless of how his senses had been honed to detect movements even when unconscious yet in the early mornings as this, even he was victim to the time it took to fully become aware of where he was.

And who was beside him.

Rubbing the last remaining traces of sleep from his eyes, Erin felt the softest movements from his left, the gentlest rise and fall of a chest as it breathed. Glancing beside him, the assassin was reminded of the continuous battle he’d been involved in for the last several years. The King of Lama, Orion, lay on his stomach, arm sprawled gracelessly across the assassin’s lap as he continued to slumber on. Erin blinked for a moment, watching the King sleep in what appeared to be a beautifully peaceful manner before his attention turned to where Orion’s arm draped across his lap.

His legs bare, covered only by the blanket of which he’d wrapped himself in, ridden by the scars of wars he’d grown up with. It was a stark contrast to the King’s pristine arm, despite the hands that were callused from the many times Orion had held a sword. The difference was astonishing, yet somehow oddly fitting. Fire left scorched marks where it burned, storms leaving lands to waste, Erin couldn’t help but think that the connection was too similar.

Running his hand along his bare shoulder, the assassin stretched his neck to the side, working out the kinks in his muscles that were starting to scream in their protest now that his consciousness was fully awakened. Glancing to the floor, Erin noticed the beginnings of the battle that had taken place here when his eyes took in the sight of clothing articles that lay strewn about without a single care. His memory began its work, replaying the events of the war that had started from beginning to end, his eyes glancing at the rejected fabrics which had all but been torn off their respective bodies before being carelessly thrown and forgotten. A stray button caught the assassin’s attention, and minutely did he feel grateful that he knew how to sew as this was no uncommon occurrence when fire rose up to meet a raging storm head on.

Running his tongue across his lips, Erin felt the tinge of pain that usually followed these bouts of conflict. A bruise, no doubt, formed from swollen lips when teeth and tongue collided in a furious fight that more often than not resulted in bites being delivered far too hard for the skin to handle. He could feel a cut having been placed beneath his lower lip, still sore to the gentlest touch from his fingertips with the freshness. Eyelids lowering, he could remember the taste on his tongue with ease, an addicting combination of smoke and rain that the assassin couldn’t get enough of. The corners of his mouth rose, a warmth settling in his stomach when he recalled it.

These fights were Erin’s favourite.

This war was one he wished would never end.

The moments when reason was shredded to pieces, when desire and fury melded into one singular stare when eyes met, Erin felt the thrum of excitement whenever the scale was tipped by either Orion or himself. The contest would start by the simplest of things whether intentional or not; it could be a simple smile, a word spoken in a certain tone, the motion of a hand, or an argument that grew too intense when the prodding went on for too long. Any small thing could set the spark alight, a match that never burned out held to the driest kindling waiting to combust. The assassin could always anticipate the kindling lighting into flames, the results that would follow being etched into his skin by the King’s teeth as they left their marks behind.

The songs that Erin sang in response were the rewards that Orion craved, the sound of the whines when he sank his teeth into the assassin’s skin being oil poured over an already surging blaze, pushing the King along in his attacks. Each mark was a warning, each bruise a launched grenade with the resounding explosion being the involuntary jerk of Erin’s hips as his nerves were singed by the lightning that Orion struck into him. The King was no gentle lover, but Erin was never fond of the softness that was spoken of in fairy tales. He coveted the harshness of the storm as it tore away everything in its path, he was desperate for the rains that constantly were a threat to the pyre that resided within it. The danger was a thrill that Erin refused to give up to anyone.

The assassin ran a hand along his chest, a battle weary plane all its own, littered with the aftermath of Orion’s passion. His fury. Erin was no stranger to pain, scars from the past marking pale skin hidden by dark clothes that concealed him when stealth was prevalent. But the courses of which drove him to the brink of madness were the ones that had the King’s nails digging into his hips, breaking the skin to leave proof of what had transpired. They were remnants of another skirmish, a collision that left both sides heaving for air between clasped hands and scratch marks claiming personal victories. The assassin could see his own declarations etched into Orion’s back, streaks of red standing proud against the firm muscles of his shoulder blades, trailed down to the small of his back where they branched outward to his waist. The way that the King slept on, the battle wounds that had been left behind seemed to bother him none. It brought a smug little smile to the assassin’s lips, for such remainders were only his to deliver unto skin that was meant to be untouched by any normal hands.

Erin tore his gaze away from the sleeping King, tugging at a throw blanket that lay loosely across the edge of the bed and pulling it around his shoulders. Feeling the soft fabric tickle against his bruised and sore skin, the assassin exhaled quietly before drawing his legs up and watching as Orion’s arm still draped over his lap fall beside him limply. Shifting softly until his feet felt the softness of the carpet beneath them, Erin stood from the bed, wobbling slightly as sore muscles cried out in protest. Ah… It seemed like the battle that took place the night before was harsher than ones in the past. Both sides wore the remnants, though Erin was rather proud to say that he wore the brunt of the wounds left behind. A badge of honor, he had called it; a sign that Orion had given in to a far more wilder side that he often only released when the assassin had edged him on too far with his teasing remarks.

The King was a storm easy to rile, the stern teachings that had been engraved into a young mind easily unraveled when the right actions were taken. Erin was a professional at ripping the seams of what held Orion’s stone hard determination together, the assassin easily able to rouse out just enough of the King’s frustrations to satisfy any amount of boredom that may have built upon itself. Erin had forgotten when the spluttered retorts had shifted to something far more dangerous, nor did he remember who had taken the first action towards declaring the war that now raged between them. The days of when flustered scoldings and chiding laughter echoed together seemed almost like an innocent game of tag, now lay to waste when angered demeanors often resulted in Erin being shoved against a wall out of the line of sight of prying eyes or Orion being pinned to his chair by hands on either side of him as the assassin’s mouth took claim of what he deemed as his.

Erin knew of the way Orion looked at him, the way his stormy eyes would follow his every movement when he was within the King’s field of vision. It allowed the assassin to cast glances back towards him, allow the King to know he was also watching him in return. There was a silent mutual understanding between them A ceaseless game of give and take that would never end lest one fall, bringing them both to ruin. The stability of the battle was what allowed them the freedom to move as they pleased, to push and pull at each other without the fear of one falling and the other losing balance in tandem.

There had been moments of when their war had almost come to a crashing end, dangerously teetering on the brink of destruction if neither side had forced the necessary distance that kept them safe. Erin could recall a night where the air had been far more charged than he was used to, lying beneath the King in his bed whilst gazing up at Orion whose stare was molten rock. The assassin’s hair splayed around gracelessly, hands limp by his head as he was dazed by the heated expression Orion met him with as he stayed above the assassin, a gloved hand lingering dangerously close to the assassin’s bare palm that gave him balance. The storm was starting to rage out of control, the flame that surged within struggling to breathe and Erin was being swept away. Orion had touched the assassin’s cheek, a tender motion that left Erin’s heart stuttering, a wicked display of affection that was forbidden if the two were to survive. A startled intake of air from the assassin, combined with the dangerous tinge of pink against his temples, had been the gunfire Orion needed to break away from the edge he was about to fall over. The King withdrew his hand, opting instead to claim Erin’s lips until the assassin was dizzy from the lack of air.

That night had been particularly heated, the way that Orion held Erin held an edge of brutality that had the assassin’s eyes rolling back as his voice went hoarse, his every nerve sparking and jerking with shaking movements in an unequal rhythm. That night had yielded Erin unable to move for a time, light headed and exhausted while a heaving Orion bore bleeding scratch marks along his arms that forced him to apply a healing salve to later on. Thinking on it now, Erin could only gather that Orion had been trying to gather himself together then, to remind himself of where the two of them stood and how dangerous it was that he had almost snapped the thread that kept them bound together. The day after that, Orion had commanded the assassin to leave him for two days, an order to which Erin oddly complied to without complaint.

Erin had also almost nearly fallen off the edge, standing alongside Orion with no less blame hanging on his shoulders as it was on Orion’s. The assassin had felt the sinful touch of the King’s hand on his cheek, yet made no move to stop the movement. Instead, he felt his heart stammer, softening to the feeling and his back sank into the bed rather than push it away as he should have. He had been startled, but in no manner had he moved away from the touch, instead having leaned into it as if it was a lifeline rather than the death sentence it truly was. He was silently grateful that the sound he had made was the trigger which snapped Orion back to the reality of the situation.

They had almost committed an act that would have spelled demise should their mouths have moved in the way they had started to. The melting gazes that lingered between a raging storm and an inferno had lasted for too long, and Erin was grateful that Orion had commanded he stay away for the time he did. Where he would usually disobey the order without a second thought, Orion had thoroughly battered him despite his seemingly endless stamina. The assassin took the demand as a means to recollect himself, to bring his mind back to the focal point it found safety in. Erin had scarcely been seen for the two days he was temporarily banished, hiding away in the room that had originally been designated to him despite just how little he actually stayed there.

That had been the closest that either of them had been to destroying the foundation they took solace in, and even with the close calls that came after, it was easier to draw away from. Erin found it easier to pull back whilst Orion found it easier to push the assassin away. There had been enough interaction for the assassin to want to cry out that the King belonged to him when he knew all the more that it was only by unspoken glances, the sensation of fingertips on his skin, wordless breaths which cemented the knowledge that Orion’s heart had been weaved into the threads that were tied around Erin’s fingers. Erin could scream it in his heart over and over, but the saying never left his lips.

I love you was a phrase he could never speak aloud.

The assassin was well aware of the rumors that floated amongst the castle walls, flittering down the corridors through whispers from the staff that cast wary glances at the assassin as he walked. It was a common occurrence, one that hardly bothered him. Even with the friendly nature of his interactions, Erin was a hot commodity amongst the maids. Orion’s personal attendant, an assassin, the King’s forbidden lover. While none of the declarations were particularly wrong, the edging frustration was still present in the castle’s shadows. Erin knew that no other would be able to be held the way he was by the King, even with the passing conversations and pressure from the council for Orion to find a bride to continue on with his lineage. Orion knew well that Erin had keened into conversations like this, the King would meet the assassin’s eyes directly while he stood expressionless in the corner of the briefing room as the council attempted to drill Orion on finding a suitable suitor before declaring that he would be the one to decide when to search for one. The assassin made no response, not even blinking, yet his understanding was clear.

Orion wasn’t going to start looking.

It was a heavy weight, one that settled uncomfortably at the bottom of Erin’s stomach, yet one he refused to give up. So long as it was there, Orion was his. So long as he remained aware of what it meant, their war would continue on. The feuds would rage as they always had, remaining in the battle torn bed sheets and hands that kept on reaching for what they eagerly yearned for. Erin’s name would still be the one on Orion’s lips, and the storm that the King was would still be the one that enabled the assassin to burn as brightly as he did.

It was that constant pull and push that allowed Erin to relax his shoulders, staring out into the courtyard that spanned to the distant walls of the castle’s gates as the sun rose higher with the passing of the morning. A sound of shuffling behind him, the assassin turned to find the King finally beginning to waken, a disgruntled groan as a naked Orion sat up and rubbed at the back of his neck, hair as much of a tangled mess as Erin’s had been. Blinking away his sleep, the King looked up to find Erin standing by the windowsill, bathed in the morning light that made that head of fire shimmer. The assassin felt pride at the widening of the King’s eyes swell deep within his abdomen.

Today, too, the battle between them would continue.


End file.
